It is not exactly, but approximately. Every day, my parents called. They wanted to see how I was doing, if I had seen the light yet, or if I had eaten. They seemed to believe that some miracle would happen and I would survive and get married and have kids.
My girlfriend wanted to get angry at me for not telling her sooner. She seemed to have thought that she could have helped me in a way. Like her knowing would have helped me add some more years to my life.
I knew the truth. The doctor even showed me my brain and pointed at where the problem was. A few more weeks before I would be dying.
I was starting to think about death a lot. How it would feel like. If it would truly be better than being alive.
Knowing that I left everyone in pain, would I even enjoy myself? I mean, if I would not be going to hell.
Heaven. Hell. Did that even exist?